“My brother,” continued the missionary, “has agreed to become a Christian and burn his idols?”
“Yes,” replied Ongoloo with an emphatic nod, for he was a man of decision. “I like to hear what you tell me. I feel that I am full of naughtiness. I felt that before you came here. I have done things that I knew to be wrong, because I have been miserable after doing them—yet, when in passion, I have done them again. I have wondered why I was miserable. Now I know; you tell me the Great Father was whispering to my spirit. It must be true. I have resisted Him, and He made me miserable. I deserve it. I deserve to die. When any of my men dare to resist me I kill them. I have dared to resist the Great Father, yet He has not killed me. Why not? you tell me He is full of love and mercy even to His rebels! I believe it. You say, He sent His Son Jesus to die for me, and to deliver me from my sins. It is well, I accept this Saviour—and all my people shall accept Him.”
“My brother’s voice makes me glad,” returned Waroonga; “but while you can accept this Saviour for yourself, it is not possible to force other people to do so.”
“Not possible!” cried the despotic chief, with vehemence. “Do you not know that I can force my people to do whatever I please?—at least I can kill them if they refuse.”
“You cannot do that and, at the same time, be a Christian.”
“But,” resumed Ongoloo, with a look of, so to speak, fierce perplexity, “I can at all events make them burn their idols.”
“True, but that would only make them hate you in their hearts, and perhaps worship their idols more earnestly in secret. No, my brother; there is but one weapon given to Christians, but that is a sharp and powerful weapon. It is called Love; we must win others to Christ by voice and example, we may not drive them. It is not permitted. It is not possible.”
The chief cast his frowning eyes on the ground, and so remained for some time, while the missionary silently prayed. It was a critical moment. The man so long accustomed to despotic power could not easily bring his mind to understand the process of winning men. He did, indeed, know how to win the love of his wives and children—for he was naturally of an affectionate disposition, but as to winning the obedience of warriors or slaves—the thing was preposterous! Yet he had sagacity enough to perceive that while he could compel the obedience of the body—or kill it—he could not compel the obedience of the soul.
“How can I,” he said at last, with a touch of indignation still in his tone, “I, a chief and a descendant of chiefs, stoop to ask, to beg, my slaves to become Christians? It may not be, I can only command them.”
“Woh!” exclaimed Wapoota, unable to restrain his approval of the sentiment.